


when i discover who i am, i’ll be free

by raayachez



Series: Through the Cooling Twilight [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Asexual Aromantic Regulus Black, Asexual aromantic character, Gen, casual mentions of murder, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raayachez/pseuds/raayachez
Summary: There were a total of twenty-nine people - that was the number of people who died by his hand, and how many different nightmares he had. They all bled crimson, including him. Perhaps, especially him.He did not even know their names.He was not sure he wanted to.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Kreacher
Series: Through the Cooling Twilight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090223
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	when i discover who i am, i’ll be free

**Author's Note:**

> TW: suicide idealization
> 
> [PLEASE](https://creativesocialworker.tumblr.com/hotlines) if you or a loved one ever feels suicidal please please please talk to somebody about it; do not let such feelings fester. The link I have attached has a masterlist of hotlines/chat rooms/etc

L I M B O:

It does not appear to Regulus like a train compartment, nor does it appear like a vast, white emptiness. It is _not_ nothing; there is too much for it to be nothing.

Instead, for him, limbo looks like a graveyard, right next to a church he has never visited.

No, that was not quite right.

He _had_ visited the church. He just had never been inside of it, choosing to merely hobble around the periphery. Regulus would never know the details of it, though, so it was just a church. One that he knew of, but not one he could stake his claim to, unless if he pretended his own sacraments were performed there.

But that was foolish. The church was not used for services for hundreds of years, and its semblance was only being maintained for an occasional tourist or history-focused local. He did not understand why it was still taken care of, when a less antiquated building could have been so easily built in its place.

His lips quirked up, as another flower fluttered down from a tree, caused by some unseen gust of wind.

Muggles were so very strange.

* * *

D Y I N G:

It is painful. More so than anything else he has ever experienced, but that could simply be because of _how_ he died. He did have a plethora of experiences to draw from, after all.

His great-grandfather - from both his mother’s and father’s side - died in his bed. Officially, his cause of death was from alcohol poisoning; that, of course, was a complete lie. An intern could have easily recognized the effects of poison, especially when the victim was only middle aged. But anyone would be willing to take a small bribe, especially when it was coming from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

His uncle Alphard died in a leather chaise, solitary and alone, in his penthouse. He was found by a measly house servant, and, according to the reports, his death was caused by alcohol poisoning too. Regulus was not naïve enough to think that one of his relatives perpetuated the murder; they were not boring enough to mimic a past attempt, nor make it so dull. Though, he was willing to admit that it was not natural. As far as he knew, Alphard never drank; he simply refused to do it.

Regulus's father chose not to investigate the case, though. Alphard had become far too passive in his politics for the main branch to bother continuing an association with him.

Of course there were other reasons. Namely, his father died within a year of Alphard’s untimely passing.

His father was at the wrong place, at the wrong time, and suffered the last few months of his life, forced to live, knowing that he would eventually be killed by an incurable curse. A curse from a Death Eater - a person from the very same organization he was part of, since he was sixteen. It was embarrassing to recognize the handiwork and with a startling realization, understand that he _knew_ who did it. That one of his companions killed his father, indirectly or not. Purposefully or not.

And, as for Regulus, he was certain that his own experience was the most dramatic. The most suiting of a Black’s death. But it was slow and humiliating and he could feel the inferni’s claws on his skin and he could not breathe and he was-

He was _suffocating._

* * *

M U R D E R:

It destroys everything. He knew this, from his own experience. He could even describe how it happened. 

It went something like this: he joined the Death Eaters on his sixteenth birthday, on a gentle summer day, and was asked to end the life of a pathetic, little mudblood. Coincidently, it was also the day his soul became tarnished.

Regulus did not like remembering it, nor did he enjoy the act the second time he did it. Nor the third, nor the fourth, nor the tenth, nor the twentieth. He, unfortunately, never liked it. Or even begin to like it.

Maybe if he was more like Bella, or Sirius, even, it would have been different. But Mother had always described him as weak, so it should not have been a surprise; he hated to be the last one to realize how true it was.

There were a total of twenty-nine people - that was the number of people who died by his hand, and how many different nightmares he had. They all bled crimson, including him. Perhaps, especially him.

He did not even know their names.

He was not sure he wanted to.

* * *

F A M I L Y:

It is difficult to maintain, no matter how hard his mother tries, if his brother does not want to be a part of them. There were quite a number of people who acted the same as Sirius. It would be impossible to forget about them, regardless of the family's attempts of ignoring them.

Toujours Pur - always pure - the motto echoes in his head.

As he laid idly on his bed, he cursed his cyclical train of thought. He knew how they trimmed the family tree, as soon as there were any signs of uncleanliness. Of squibs. Of muggle-lovers. Of half-breeds. Of bastards.

Of course, it was not the most elegant solution, not when they were growing so incestuous, as the generations passed. Regulus wondered if it would be his child, grandchild, or more optimistically, great-grandchild who would have to marry their own sibling.

He scowled into his blanket. This was why he did not want to marry. He did not want to doom his progeny to a miserable future; he ignored his more selfish reasons - of not desiring _that_ type of relationship. It was far easier to see himself as a martyr, rather than some incompetent, foolish child.

Regardless of his own sentiments about marriage, he _did_ want a partner. A woman who was willing to stay with him; a best friend, he realized. He wanted to live the rest of his life with someone who cared for him. He longed for the relationships that seemed to come so naturally for everyone else.

Most of all, he missed the love he felt for Cissy and Bella and even Andy and Sirius, when he was younger. He missed how easy it was, devoid of the powerplays that were littered all over their current interactions. Devoid of double meanings and fractured households. He knew it was a pipe dream.

Regulus scoffed. Bella would insult him for the way he was thinking.

He turned his pillow onto its other side and attempted to fall asleep.

* * *

L O Y A L T Y:

It is not a quality that everybody has. Regulus knew this more than anyone - he was a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake. He was a _Black_. He could not have possibly spent his entire seven years of schooling, without experiencing his own fair share of backstabbing.

He ignored the fact that his experiences were far better than those rare, pathetic mudbloods who wandered their way into Salazar’s house. They should not have been given magic, in the first place.

But, devotion - faithfulness, allegiance, whatever; take your pick - was something that was supposed to be held constant, when it comes to family. There was nothing stronger than the bond between mother and child, between two siblings. After all, blood was important for a reason, even if contemporary magical theorists may try to sway the public’s gaze away.

And Kreacher came back from the task the Dark Lord wanted him to do, practically half-dead. Regulus thinks he knows what undiluted fury feels like, when Kreacher hobbled to his arms, anguished and desperate and nauseous.

And for some reason, Kreacher was apologizing to _him_. As if Regulus had not just sent Kreacher to what could have been his death sentence. Regulus, if he was even a little less lucky - no, if Kreacher had let his own pain overtake him - he would have never seen Kreacher again.

Regulus felt shame.

First, for the fact that Kreacher was forced to confront his own mortality, and second, for the fact that Regulus was feeling that way. Blacks do not feel shame. They should not, they do not. They are a dark family for many reasons and one of the primary reasons - after their gratuitous use of violent spells - is that they do not dwell in emotions; they transform it to something harder, something more toxic.

He had lived a little over eighteen years as a black. He will not stop doing so, now.

Honestly, he had no idea what the item the Dark Lord wanted so desperately to be protected, but frankly, he did not care. Anything of that importance to him must be related to the Dark Lord’s immortality. It was the only explanation that made any sense, because if that was not the case… Kreacher’s efforts would have been for nothing. Regulus refused to let it become nothing, because…

Because.

He might have been branded by the Dark Lord, but Kreacher had shown him more appreciation in any minute of their shared time together than that pompous, arrogant arsehole had done in Regulus’s entire service.

That was the first time he realized the extent of his affections for his friend.

(It was terrifying.)

Letting go of a breath he did not realize he held, he gave Kreacher a warm blanket and dried the house elf’s wet, clammy hands. One cannot overthrow a kingdom in a mere day.

* * *

Here is what Regulus Black has always known about his own death: he would be the catalyst for his own self-destruction.

**Author's Note:**

> if u think i should've added a trigger warning/content warning, pls don't think twice abt telling me abt it! this should b a place where u can put ur happiness & safety before anything else !!
> 
> if u wanna ever talk hmu thru: [ig!](https://www.instagram.com/lovely.raaya/), [twt!](https://twitter.com/raayachez), [tumblr!](https://rchez.tumblr.com/)


End file.
